


though pieces go missing, may we still feel whole

by DelenaStar



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: APS Secret Santa!, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas traditions, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, p.s. why does alya's official character tag not have their hyphenated last name?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelenaStar/pseuds/DelenaStar
Summary: Jemma and Fitz discuss Alya's experiences with Christmas. Fitz ponders all the love they've shown their daughter, proving to be surprisingly wise in the ways of Christmas, and unsurprisingly wise in the ways of love.An Alya Protection Squad Secret Santa gift for Auri! :)
Relationships: Alya Fitz & Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Alya Fitz/Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Kudos: 21





	though pieces go missing, may we still feel whole

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Snow" by Sleeping At Last. Title and opening quote are both from that song. Ending quote is from "North", also by Sleeping At Last.
> 
> I wrote this in about two hours from sudden inspiration, I really love it and I hope you do too! :D Written to Yiruma because I can't write if I'm listening to music that has lyrics.
> 
> unbeta'd

we’ll build new traditions in place of the old

‘cause life without revision will silence our souls

~

“Do you remember our first Christmas together?”

Fitz looks up at Jemma. Next to his seat where he’s been reading, she is standing at the window in their living room, watching as Alya frolics about in the snow. Jemma’s hands are worrying at a loose thread in the right cuff of her worn-in sweater; her breath has started to fog up the glass slightly as she stands there, observing their daughter. Loose tendrils of her hair hang about her face. A couple days ago, she’d found a grey hair on that lovely, genius head of hers. Fitz loved her all the more for it, though she had rolled her eyes at him saying so. “You worry so much about others,” Fitz had insisted. “You’ve got an immeasurable amount of care in your heart. You’ve more than earned a couple of early grey hairs.” That had softened Jemma’s expression, and when her quick search of Fitz’s head found a similar grey hair, she’d declared them to be quite the pair.

“Fitz?”

He startles out of his reverie and meets her eyes, realizing he never answered her question. “What, at the academy? We both flew home that first year, so it must have been the second, yeah? I seem to recall it was a combination of a winter storm and your ever-lasting urge to study that kept us in the US that year.”

Jemma shakes her head, a fleeting smile softly lighting up her face at the memory. “No no, not _our_ first Christmas, Fitz. I meant our first Christmas with Alya.” A small frown has replaced the smile, forming a small crease in her brow.

“Oh.” Fitz considers this, tilting his head for a better look at her face. “Well, we didn’t have much to work with. But we did our best, yeah? It was a small affair, sure, but Alya does love the holidays. I think that’s proof enough that we did well to make it fun for her.”

Fitz wasn’t exactly the jolly sort—that first year in space, they’d been so hell-bent on building the machine that they’d skipped over the holiday completely. It wasn’t until the second year, when they’d decided to slow down and enjoy their unconventional life with Alya, that Fitz realized they’d missed the holidays. And so, in an effort to bring Jemma joy, and perhaps bring them both a small sense of normalcy, Fitz had spent hours replicating their old idea of Christmas, and in turn invented a new one. In lieu of a Christmas tree, such a thing being utterly unavailable to them in space (and their home sorely lacking in room for such a thing in the first place), Fitz had rigged colored lights out of things like lamps and colored fabric (salvaged from a couple of old t-shirts, which he thought it to be an honourable sacrifice). The air didn’t have the smell of pine, or even a pine scented candle to replicate it, but Fitz had whipped up a small batch of his mum’s Scottish shortbread (as much as their stores would allow) to give the air a holiday feel. They didn’t have snow (or any weather, for that matter), but Fitz had cut the paper kind of snowflakes and hung them about.

Of course, Alya being but a wee babe at the time, it was all an effort for Jemma. And when it was over, he’d carefully stored away his hand-crafted decorations, and brought them out year after year. And with each year, new creases formed on the snowflakes. But the warm smell of shortbread became more and more familiar, and the colored lights were seen as magical through the eyes of their young daughter.

Back in the present, Jemma has turned back to the window, watching Alya again, the crease still present on her brow. Behind Jemma, there is a real tree, decorated all over with traditional fairy lights, old ornaments brought from childhood homes, and new ones either bought or made by hand with Alya. The smell of pine combines with that of shortbread, and paper snowflakes old and new hang from the ceiling, matching the dusting of real snow that Alya plays in now.

Fitz reaches out and gently grabs Jemma’s hand, rubbing his thumb across her wrist. “What’s on your mind, Jemma?” When she turns and meets his gaze again, there’s a slight sheen of tears in her eyes.

Jemma sighs heavily, blinking the tears back before she speaks. When she does, her voice is determined, as if she is willing it to not crack. “What if we can’t give her enough? What if we can’t make up for all she missed out on?”

Fitz smiles at her, a bit wistfully. “We already _did,_ Jemma. We did that first year when we found joy in what little we had, and every year after that when we continued to show her what love looked and felt like.”

Jemma gives a small smile at Fitz’s assurance, but once again it is fleeting. She turns to him more fully now, though, taking his hand in both of hers and worrying at it like she’d been worrying at her sweater before. “But she missed so much that other kids her age get, Fitz! This tree, the snow, family…”

Fitz shakes his head at that, placing his left hand on top of both of hers to stop their movements. “But she _didn’t_ , Jem. All those things aren’t what makes Christmas. Those traditions are _manifestations_ of love, they aren’t love itself. _We’re_ her family, Jemma. We gave her all we had, year round, and unconventional as it was, it was enough love to make her into the incredible person we both know her to be. And we continue to give her that love, and so she will continue growing.”

The long-fought tears finally spill onto Jemma’s cheeks, and the sheen in Fitz’s eyes threatens to match Jemma’s. “Besides,” Fitz continues, blubbering slightly, “how many kids can say they grew up literally amongst the stars?”

Jemma laughs abruptly at that, and takes one hand out of his grasp to wipe at her cheeks.

“The unique parts of her childhood don’t make our traditions any less important, Jemma,” Fitz says softly, bringing the hand he still holds to his lips for a kiss. “If anything, it makes them more meaningful. Look around you; she has all that we grew up knowing, and more.”

Jemma gazes at him in wonder for a long moment, eventually bringing her free hand up to caress his face. “When did you become so wise in the ways of Christmas, Fitz? I always knew you to be such a Grinch.”

Fitz chuckles, and leans into her touch. “I think you wore away at me with your formidable joy over the course of our friendship. I may have denied it, but once we missed it for a year, I had to admit to myself that I’d learned enough from you to take up the helm and create it for you, and for Alya.” He meets her gaze squarely, his eyes warm and vulnerable. “It’s never about Christmas, Jemma. The holiday is just a social construct. We may do all this every December on schedule, but it’s only a manifestation of the love we show each other. We find other ways to show it, every day, any time of year.”

Jemma smiles tearfully at him, and leans down to give him a gentle, lingering kiss. When she breaks away, she leaves her forehead leaning against his, and whispers, “I love you so much, Fitz.”

“I love you too, Jemma.”

And when Alya comes in from the cold, declaring wishes for hot chocolate (a new favorite of hers), they drink it with Scottish shortbread, and all is as it should be, new and old.

~

with each year, our color fades

slowly our paint chips away

but we will find the strength,

and the nerve it takes

to repaint

and repaint, and repaint

every day.


End file.
